Paternity leave
by Belamancer
Summary: Even an illegitimate daughter of a supernatural being has to go through puberty. : Don't worry, I will finish this eventually!
1. Discoveries

Okay, I don't know exactly why I'm writing this, it just kind of happened. Incidently, if you're all nice and review, then it might happen again. Maybe.

Incidently, if you're wondering why I'm writing this when I should be updating my other fics, blame it on my goldfish attention span. 

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Chapter, ye First

__

(Book of Genesis, Chapter five, King Jame's version)

3 And Adam lived an hundred and 

thirty years, and begat a son in his own

likeness, after his image; and called 

his name Seth :

4 And the days of Adam after he had

begotten Seth were eight hundred years:

and he begat sons and daughters:

5And all the days that Adam lived 

were nine hundred and thirty years: and 

he died.

6And Seth lived an hundred and five 

years, and begat Emos:

7 And Seth lived after he had begat

Emos eight hundred and seven years, 

and begat sons and daughters:

8And all the days of Seth were nine 

hundred and twelve years: and he died

----------------------

Gene closed the book with a sigh. Another day wasted. Well, she corrected herself conciensiously, not exactly wasted. After all, she did find a lot of information in the books she'd scanned through, just not what she'd been looking for. And once again, she had ended up looking in That Book, and once again all it had left her with was a migraine and a nagging feeling that she wasn't asking the right questions. 

She fought the urge to thump the table and shout in frustration. 

The libraian wouldn't like that, her concience reminded her. 

Yeah, so? A tiny rebellious voice muttered vaguely in the back of her head. It was the only even vaguely rebellious thing about her. Even though she religiously wore denim jeans and baggy t-shirts every day, she still managed to look like she should be wearing a suit or a uniform of some sort. Her face was unmemorable, the sort that you pass on the streets with a vague barely there nod because you're not sure whether or not you know them. Her hair was an entirely unoriginal brown, cut just to shoulder length and with a middle parting. 

Her eyes were grey. Not steel grey, or slate, or charcoal, or any one of a million different shades, but a deep changable greyish-ness which changed colour to reflect her surroundings, the sky, and occaisionally her moods. Usually they were a light bluey grey, that being the usual colour associated with living in and around Manchester. It's possible that if she ever went on holiday her eyes would be bright and interesting shade of blue, but she had never left the shadow of the perma-grey cloud which sits above Manchester and surrounding areas, as if they were something embarrassing which the heavens didn't want to have to look at, so she didn't know.

She sighed again, louder this time, earning herself a stern glare from the librarian, who clearly wasn't used to young girls of fifteen who came in here to actually read. Gene ignored her studiously as she gathered up her notes and put her books back on the shelves. 

A sudden though occurred to her as she was leaving the library, and she quickly hurried back to ask the librarian something. The librarian aswered her question as well as she could.

Gene left quietly and apeared to wander randomly up the high street. Only after several minutes of watching her intently would someone notice that she was in fasct walking in a straight line. 

Gene appeared to do everything with a slightly unfocused air about her, like a fuzzy photograph, and the way she looked at people tended to put them in mind of a concussed chicken. Not that people tended to notice a lot about Gene any way; most people tended to treat her like wallpaper, and in a way she actually preferred it like that. Of course, in another way it was really annoying, but then, Genette Suzanne Walker always saw both sides of every argument. She used to be a member of the school debating club, but people around her often found it difficult to follow the logic of someone who was arguing as much with herself as with anyone else.

Sometimes, even she found it difficult to follow her logic. If logic was what it was, she was beginning to wonder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphael shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "I'm sure I would have noticed something like that." Crowley shrugged. 

"I thought it was probably just me being over-paranoid. Just thought I'd better check." Crowley picked up the bottle that they had been sharing and shokk it from side to side. It was empty. "Well," he said, getting to his feet with a sigh, "I suppose I'd better be going. Nice shop, by the way." He added with a grin. 

Aziraphael rolled his eyes thearetically. "You know da-, uh, darn well that it's exactly the same as the one in Soho." 

Crowley grinned at him. "Yeah," he said, "but I like the location better. See you." And with that, he was gone.

[Oh, all right. He left the shop through the door like everyone else does. Satisfied? Right, now if you'll just let the narrative continue. 

Ahem. Right, where was I? Ah, yes...]

Aziraphael sighed and quickly sobered up. Trust Crowley to remind me of that, he thought, but without rancour. Truth be told, he didn't actually mind the location all that much. He ran a small crowded bookshop down a discrete little sidestreet which saw even less custom than the shop two doors down from him, which sold novelty paperweights, and he did his very best to keep it that way. After all, the last thing he needed was customers coming in and disturbing his collections of books. 

At the front of the shop a bell tinkled discretely, at a pitch that was just high enough to be above the rather limited hearing range of most human beings. Aziraphael frowned slightly, but ignored it. He could hear someone in the other half of the shop, shuffling books around and flicking pages, but he was detirmined to ignore them untill they went away.

Hesitantly a voice called "Hello? Anyone there? Hello?" but he ignored it. Eventually the footsteps receded and a second discrete ting of the bell indicated that whoever it was had left. Aziraphael walked into the front of the shop to repair any damge caused by the unwelcome intrusion, and was utterly unprepared for the startling sight which met his eyes. 

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Gene smiled vaguely at the guy who appeared in the doorway as she closed the door again. From the look on his face the last thing he expected to find in his little strange smelling crowded shop was a customer. As she smiled he seemed to take this as confirmation that she didn't need any help and turned to go back out. "Excuse me," she said "I'm a little lost." indicating the towering shelves of slightly dogeared and battered books. 

"What sort of book are you looking for?" Aziraphael asked, making a mental note not to open the shop on a Saturday ever again. Somehow, his usual tactics didn't seem to be working, althought the girl in front of him looked as normal as all the otehr humans who had entered his shop over the years. 

"I'm not quite sure. Do you have anything on the occult?" Aziraphael blinked. That was ... unusual. Not many people asked for that sort of thing these days, especially not people who looked as _normal_ this. 

"Could you be a tad more specific?" Gene frowned thoughtfully. She hadn't thought this far ahead. 

"Uhm, I don't know. Maybe some prophecies? have you got any of those?" 

"Second shelf up,third shelf from the right as you come in." 

"Thanks. Do you mind if I have a quick read before I buy?" 

"No." Said Aziraphael, meaning to say 'yes'. He stood by as she reverntially removed one crumbling tombe from it's niche and carefully examined a few pages before replacing it even more carefully. "Um, do you have any other occult stuff?" 

"No." he said, mentally crossing his fingers. The girl looked vaguely put out. 

"Well, I guess . . . Hmm. Do you have a copy of the bible?" Now it was Aziraphael's turn to look put out. Although he used to have an extensive collection of unusual and usual bibles, after the buisiness with Adam and the apocalypse and everything he had inexplicably lost almost all of them. To date the only one of his original collection which remained was the "Buggre This Alle" Bible, and he was da- he was not going to sell that to anyone, as he felt quite attached to it. He shook his head no. The girl Gene sighed. "Are you sure? I only need to borrow it for a couple of minutes." He rolled his eyes and sighed. What a nuisance. Well, if it got her out of the shop any faster...

"Well, yes I do have one that you could borrow. It isn't entirely accurate though." Gene stared at him. An _accurate_ Bible? She didn't even know there was such a thing. She found herself wondering wether, if there was, this rather queer (in all meanings of the word, I might add) looking guy might have read it at one time. It was a strange line of thought to follow, and she couldn't think what had prompted it, so she gave it up. 

Aziraphael quickly retreived the book from it's place in the storeroom before the oddly querolous look she was wearing could develope into an actual question. Accurate Bible? What a stupid thing to say. After all, even the original bible hadn't been truly accurate, in the same way that the minutes from any meeting will invaribly miss out all the introductions, pointless arguments and embarrassing acusations etc. 

He watched curiously as she ruffled through the pages apparently randomnly, and then stopped. She read a few short passages, laughed quietly to herself, and then handed the book back to him. "Well, it's more accurate than the other ones I've been reading." Aziraphael frowned. "How exactly?" he asked her.

"Oh, well none of the other ones I've ever read have had the bit about the missing sword." 

"Was it any help?" He felt a little more kindly towards the girl now, after all she obviously knew some thing about the Book. And she was seeking Guidance from it, which was all very Right and Proper, although admitadly rather rare these days. Gene shook her head. "Not really. Well," she corrected herself, " no more than it usually is." 

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that." Although not really surprised, he thought quietly. Really, they should do a sort of updated version, one that would be more relavent to people these days. "I just don't get it. I mean, I thought that there probably wouldn't be any real answers or anything, but I thought that there would be something. Stupid bloody gut feelings." she added as an after thought. 

Aziraphael looked at her closely. "What sort of answer are you looking for?" he asked cautiously. Something about this didn't seem to quite fit in with rest of their encounter, and he wanted to know why. Gene swore silently. How could she have been so incredibly stupid as to blurt all that stuff out to this guy she didn't even know? But he did seem very ... trustworthy, in an odd kind of way. She wondered if perhaps she should try to see his aura, to make sure, but decided against it, as it usually involved squinting at people and did look kind of strange. "I don't know." she said carefully. "Just, you know, answers." Aziraphael frowned at her again. Several centuries spent living amongst humans had given him some insight into human behaviour, and the way this girl was bahaving was decidedly peculiar. Gene sighed. "Okay, okay. I'm trying to solve a, a puzzle, okay?" 

"What sort of puzzle?" Another sigh. 

"Well, more a sort of murder mystery kind of puzzle. Oh all right! I'm trying to find out where my dad's got to. He was supposed to see me ages ago and he never turned up." 

Aziraphael scratched his head thoughtfully. "I suppose you never thought of contacting the police?" Gene rolled her eyes. 

"He's been missing for a year and a half. And anyway, I don't think he'd much apreciate me sending the police after him. He did, uh, **doesn't** like them much." 

"Why not?" 

The frustration Gene always experienced during most adult conversations chose this moment to surge to the fore. "I don't bloody know! Sorry." she added when she saw his pained expression. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I'ts crazy, or at least everyone else thinks so." Aziraphael stared at her thoughtfully whilst causually checking out her aura. It was strange, he couldn't seem to get a clear view of it. From what he could see of it, it appeared to be purple, and that was most definetly not normal. Maybe she was mad, he thought, but she seemed quite sane as far as he could make out. 

Gene shivered under the scrutiny. She knew he was thinking about her, although she didn't want to know how she knew. She did know, she just didn't **want** to know. Well, she thought, whilst he's doing that I might as well check out his aura, I mean it's not like he's gonna think that I'm any stranger. 

Aziraphael had stopped, realising that he was staring at her and probably looked more than a litle gormless, when suddenly the feeling of being examined swept through him. It was not a particularly comfortable feeling. It didn't feel at all familiar, which ruled out any of his, ahem, superiors. He shivered and then stared at the young woman in front of him. She was squinting at him starngely, like she was trying to see something on the edge of vision, which in a way was what she was doing. The realisation hit him. She was trying to see his aura! But this wasn't the usual, well, more usual feeling of being looked by a human with the Gift, like Agnes for example. This felt more like the occaisions when he'd come under the scrutiny of other Angels. (Something which had been happening all too often just lately, his concience reminded him.) Or like those few occaisions when Crowley had had reason to feel suspicious of him and had looked him over. But it couldn't possibly- I mean, she looked sounded and acted human! How-?

Gene squinted harder, trying to make the blurred colours come into focus. This was more difficult than looking at people's auras usually was. It was so bright . . .

Aziraphael snapped out of his reverie just in time to see the girl, eyes wide and face startlingly white and shocked, stagger backwards as if she had been pushed, and fall. He shook his head and reached out a hand to pull her up and she shrank back from him as if terrified. Which was ridiculous - even if she had just been shocked or surprised by his aura, she should not be afraid. 

Gene clenched her fists, nails biting into her pal to give a sense of real, and carefully got up. So it was true. It was all true. Fifteen and a half years spent denying it, and she'd been wrong all along. The angels do walk among us, she thought. And, in his spare time, one of them runs a bookshop. 

Aziraphael stopped trying to decypher her expression, and nodded at her. "Do you want a drink?" She nodded and followed him into the back room. 

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Thus endeth Chapter, Ye first.

Said chapter being written under the influences of ; music(s) by artistes _f_uch as James, Cahd Kroeger, Linkin Park etc 

Books such a_f_ Good Omens, written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen

and su_f_picious chemical supplements, the nature of which we will not go into here.

Pleas note, any characters used in the above chapter which you recognise as being from anything else are not mine. The only original character I have introduced so far is Gene, the others aren't mine and suing me would be entirely pointless as I don't actually own anything _at all_. (I sold my soul to a muse I saw wandering along the road the other day, and in return I got a whole load of inspiration.)


	2. Yes, okay I know It's a Cliche Sorry abo...

I really put my soul into this one. I hope it's worth it. 

Enjoy.

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Second chapter in the adventures and explorations of Genette Walker.

Gene stared at the mug of steaming cocoa that the strange bookshop/angel guy had had mysteriously ready for her when she finally stumbled into the room and sat down. For a full five minutes she just sat and stared at him over the top of the mug, waiting for her hands to stop shaking. It all felt so ... unreal, as if she were somehow dreaming or not really here. 

Aziraphael watched the girl as she drank her cocoa. She didn't look like a witch, or anything else in fact. Except possibly an accountant or buisiness woman in the making. He could tell that she wasn't really taking this quite seriously, as if she thought that she might wake up any minute. He nodded to himself. Yes, about ten minutes should do it. 

"SO, just who are you then?" Gene surprised herself with the question. She had wanted to ask it, but she hadn't meant to, so why had it just slipped out? 

Aziraphael blinked and looked at her. Well, no harm in telling her, it's not as if she'll remember it anyway. "I'm ... Aziraphael." 

"You're an angel." 

Her prompt reply startled him somewhat. How did you come to that conclusion, he longed to ask her, but there would be no point. "Yes." He answered simply. Then, "You don't believe me, do you." Mutely, she shook her head. "Right then. Give me your address." Stuttering slightly she reeled off a long list of house numbers and directions. Aziraphael smiled at her. Okey, he thought, that should be all of it. He snapped his fingers. 

***************************************************

"Crowley? Are you there? Crowley? Crowley! Crowley, turn off that infernal machine and talk to me? Crowley? Crowley, answer the da - darned 'phone!" 

"Hey, Azy! Wassup?" 

"What? Crowley, don't mess me about! I need to talk to you."

"~sigh~ Okay, okay. What is it?" 

"I need to borrow your car."

"Aziraphael, I've known you for over five thousand years now, and in all that time, you never learnt how to drive, let alone think to buy your own car. Can you think of any reason in Hell, Earth or Heaven why I would lend you mine?"

"Because I've got an unconcious young woman in the back of my shop." 

There was a long period of silence before Crowley answered. 

"Sorry about that Aziraphael. I'm okay now, I just sobered up. What did you say?" 

"I said that you should let me borrow your car because I have an unconcious young woman in the back of my shop and I need to take her home."

" Yes, that's what I thought you said. I thought angels weren't allowed to do that sort of thing."

"What? What are you going on about now?"

"It's just that I seem to remember a certain unwritten, but duly enforced, rule that stated that angels weren't permitted to , uh, mix with humans. In that way." 

"Huh? Crowley, I really don't - oh right."

"Now you understand what I'm going on about? Penny finally dropped, did it?"

"Oh for goodness sake, shut up Crowley! It's not like that at all! She just came into the shop and started asking strange questions and I'll explain it better when you get here, okay? And don't forget your car." 

Aziraphael hung up.

***************************************************

Back in her house, Gene jerked awake from a particularly strange and vivid dream. She didn't remember going to bed, but that wasn't exactly uncommon these days. No headache, but she suposed that was just a stroke of luck. 

She sat up and opened her eyes. Her room was uncomonly tidy. Don't remember doing that, she thought. SHe climbed out of bed and moved to open her warderobe when something caught her eye. 

SHe reached out towards the gleaming barely-there ethereal thing and was rewarded with a strange tentative light feathery touch brushing along her palm. She picked the feather up. It was white, a bright vivid and-this-is-why-I-only-use-Wacko-washing-powder kind of white, yet oddly thin. She held it up to the light and it seemed to glow silvery as the early morning light shone through. She absent mindedly brushed it along her upper lip and sniffed. It smelled oddly spicy, like a mixture of old leather and Old Spice. Strange. Maybe she really had - no, don't be stupid. 

But still, angel or not, it was very pretty. She placed it very carefully inside a small box on her dressing table and left the room to go shower. 

****************************************************

Crowley grinned at Aziraphael as he got back into the car. "SO, you going to tell me who she is, then?" 

"I don't really know. But I think we should keep an eye on her." 

"Of course. Discretely, though."

"Yeah. Discretely." Aziraphael surrepticiously scratched his wings. It really itched where he'd pulled the feather out, but he had to leave her something, didn't he? 

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Well, that was fun. Please, review and tell me what you think. 

Oh, go on, you know you want to.


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